


Mother, I Have Lost My Way

by meiloslyther



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Prostitution, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-12
Updated: 2009-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiloslyther/pseuds/meiloslyther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon meets a young hustler he can't seem to ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother, I Have Lost My Way

**Author's Note:**

> BAH. This was inspired and heavily influenced by Billy Talent's Standing in the Rain (which is quoted within the fic, btw) while on my trip to WI. Also slightly kind of inspired by QAF season 3. XD Hope you guys enjoy. And, huh, I guess this would be my first AU ever.

The first time I ever saw him, I was walking back to my apartment from work. I had just found a shortcut the week before that made the walk only about ten minutes. Unfortunately, it went right through a back alley a block away from my apartment, and I had made the mistake of taking the last shift.

"Hey, sexy. Looking for a good time?"

I whipped around at the low monotone voice to find a young man who looked no older than myself stepping out of the shadows, his sultry eyes lined with black and his light brown hair swept across his forehead. He was a good couple of inches taller than me, accentuated by his long legs and fingers. He was pretty, feminine almost with his tight fitting jeans and baby-doll t-shirt.

"Give me $50 and I'll suck your cock. Give me $100 and you can fuck me raw."

I grimaced at his directness. "How old are you?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Old enough. Do you want me or not?"

This kid - because he couldn't have been any older than eighteen - was definitely no professional. He was just some poor teenager who probably didn't even have a place to call home.

"Look, I-I don't want anything, but if you need money, I can give you some. I know what it's like to be broke," I replied, pulling a $50 out of my back pocket and offering it to him. I had just gotten my pay for the week, and that was almost a fourth of it, but I figured he needed it more than I did.

"I don't need your fucking charity, okay?" he growled, shoving my hand away. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh, is that what you call it? You're out here selling yourself, so you obviously need cash," I spat back harshly, pressing the bill to his chest. "So take my fucking money and save your energy for the next guy, alright?"

I spun on my heel then, not looking back to see if he took the money or not.

***

The second time I saw him, it was almost three weeks later. It wasn't that I was avoiding him or anything, it's just I hadn't been taking the last shift lately, and I figured he only worked under the cover of darkness. But this time I had to take the last shift, I needed the extra cash, and there I was again in the back alley at night.

It wasn't anything he even said that caught my attention, but a soft groan of pain.

He was curled up on his side next to a dumpster, his clothes ripped and his face bloodied and bruised. He was clutching at his side like someone had kicked him in the ribs, and his hair was matted with dirt and blood. I immediately rushed over and knelt by his side.

"Hey, hey kid, can you hear me?"

His black-rimmed eyes opened slowly and I realized they were a beautiful shade of copper. "I'm not fucking deaf." His voice was raw and he coughed suddenly, grimacing and spitting blood onto the pavement. "Hey, you're that kid that gave me cash for nothing."

I grinned a little, nodding. "Can you walk? We need to get you out of here."

"He kicked me in the shin pretty good, but yeah, I think I can walk."

I wasn't about to ask who 'he' was - he probably wouldn't tell me anyway - so I just offered my hand and helped him onto his feet instead. He swayed a little and I steadied him by his shoulders; hopefully a place where he wasn't hurt. He was only putting weight on his left leg, so I assumed the offended shin was the right one and slung his right arm over my shoulders, placing my left carefully around his thin waist. I then slowly led him back to my apartment.

"You should probably go see a doctor about that," I suggested when he was safely on my couch, peeling off his ruined shirt. There was a large bruise covering the right side of his ribs and it looked suspiciously boot-shaped.

He shook his head vigorously. "No cops. No doctors."

I sighed resignedly, settling next to him with my tiny first-aid kit and a damp rag. He sat perfectly still as I cleaned the blood off of his face, only flinching a little when I dabbed at a cut on his cheek with some peroxide. Next I moved to the scrapes on his chest and hands, carefully picking out small pieces of gravel.

"Who could do something like this?" I muttered angrily, pouring peroxide on the palm of his left hand.

"Some guys tend to get violent. Some like to vent their frustrations over possibly being gay. Others are just queer-bashers looking for some fun."

I shook my head in disbelief. "You need help getting to the bathroom? You look like you could use a shower."

"No, no, I can do it."

I watched him as he limped into the bathroom and didn't move an inch the whole time the water was running. It occurred to me that I was helping out a complete stranger, someone who could rob me blind if he wanted to, but I didn't have much to steal anyway. My mother would have been proud, I thought.

"Want to fuck me now? My offer still stands."

I turned to see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, one of my dark blue towels hanging low on his hips, one hand keeping him upright against the doorframe. He was looking at me through his wet bangs, and I thought he looked so lost and helpless like that.

"No, no, I..." I cut myself off, shaking my head. "Look, you should get some sleep," I sighed, getting to my feet. "Come on, bed's in here."

I took him into my room, digging in a drawer for a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt he could borrow. We were probably pretty close to the same size, except in the ass and legs department; he was all leg, I was all ass.

"You can wear this. Now get some rest," I ordered softly, handing him the clothes before walking out of the room.

***

I woke from a restless sleep the next morning, a crick in my neck from where I used the armrest of the couch as a pillow. I stumbled through my morning routine, only remembering the young man still asleep in my bed halfway through making myself breakfast. I decided to let him sleep; god knows he needed it.

He hobbled out into the living room close to noon, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The shirt I leant him was loose around his chest, the boxers hanging limply off of his sharp hipbones. "What time is it?"

"Quarter till noon. Hungry?"

He shook his head. "You don't have to feed me, too."

"No, I don't have to. But what kind of good samaritan would I be if I didn't feed the poor hungry boy who spent the night in my bed?"

He raised one perfect little eyebrow at me.

"Exactly."

I stood and went into the kitchen, grabbing a few eggs and the last couple strips of bacon out of the fridge. I rinsed the pans I had used earlier to make my own breakfast and sat them on the stove, turning on the two front burners.

"Smells good," I heard him mutter from behind me when I had the bacon sizzling.

I turned slightly to look at him, grinning over my shoulder. "It's just your generic bacon, really. How do you like your eggs?"

He scratched the back of his neck, hesitating. I could tell he wasn't used to this kind of generosity without having to give something in return. "Scrambled... if you don't mind."

I nodded, cracking a couple of eggs and getting to work. When I was done cooking, I piled everything on a plate and handed it to him along with a fork.

He looked down at it for a second before glancing back up at me. "Thank you...?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm Brendon," I laughed, realizing for the first time that we didn't even know each other's names. "Brendon Urie."

"Thank you, Brendon. You're really nice."

I could feel myself blush a little. "I do what I can. And you are?"

He swallowed a bite of egg, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ryan Ross."

"You're not so bad yourself, Ryan. Come over to the table, sit down or something."

He shook his head, setting down the plate of half eaten food on the counter. "I really should go. I make all my best money in the early afternoon."

I frowned. "Oh."

"I'll bring your clothes back when I can," he continued, grabbing his own clothes from the bathroom and pulling on his pants. "This shirt is ruined, so."

"You can have them."

He gave me a pained smile. "It's the least I can do to thank you. Unless you changed your mind on my offer."

I shook my head, sighing a little. "No, it's okay. Bring the clothes back, whatever floats your boat, man. You know where to find me if you need anything."

He threw a timid, "Yeah," over his shoulder as he opened the door, grinning a little, before stepping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I heaved a sigh; I was in for the long haul now. My mother would have been so proud.

***

 

"Hey, Bden, you look like hell, man."

I grinned tiredly over at Jon standing next to the counter as I tugged on the dark green Starbucks apron and tied it behind my back. He was my manager, but also one of my best friends.

"I didn't sleep too well last night."

Something in my voice must have sounded off, because a worried look suddenly replaced his smirk. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's just... remember that kid I told you about?"

He thought for a second. "Oh, you mean the hustler?"

I grimaced. "Yeah. I found him again last night. Someone... someone beat him up."

"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously, hopping up onto the counter. There were no customers at the moment and he had every right to dirty the counters he had cleaned himself. Not my problem, just as long as he didn't make me do it.

"I helped him out, you know? Took him home, cleaned him up, let him get some sleep, fed him..."

"Oh my god, Brendon you took him to your fucking _apartment_?" Jon hissed incredulously, his eyes going wide. "Do you _want_ to be fucking killed? Robbed? Arrested?"

I blinked a little. "He seemed nice enough. And what could I get arrested for? I didn't do anything."

He put his head in his hands and sighed. "You and your fucking blind faith, Brendon... anything could have happened to you, you know that right?" He looked back up at me then. "And just because you didn't do anything doesn't mean you can't get arrested. He's a male prostitute. Male prostitution is illegal in Nevada. Actually it's illegal in pretty much every state but Rhode Island."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't ask me how I know that."

I hung my head for a minute. "But... he seemed so helpless. He pretty much is helpless. He's just a fucking kid, Jon."

"So are you." I looked up at him then, and he slid off the counter to come hug me tightly. "I know you want to try, but you can't save the whole world, Bren. You just can't. It doesn't work that way." He took a step back and tipped my chin up so that I was looking at him, even if technically I was still looking down, considering his height. "So the next time you invite him over you better fucking call me, okay? I don't want you to be alone with him."

I nodded, knowing he was just looking out for my safety.

"Now, get your ass to work or I'll have you scrubbing the floors tonight," he finished with a devious twist to his lips, poking me in the side.

I just laughed.

***

It was another few weeks before I saw Ryan again. I had stayed late over at Jon's place toking up, so of course I didn't see him laying on the ground until I nearly stepped on him going up the stairs.

"Ryan?"

He jerked and spun around quickly, wiping the drool from his face. He must have fallen asleep.

"Brendon, hey, I. I brought your clothes back."

He handed me a wad of fabric and I took it, suddenly unable to hold back a small fit of giggles. I was still a little stoned.

"What's so funny?"

I shook my head a little, slowing down to just a smile. "Nothing, it's nothing. Hey, it's late, wanna crash with me again? You look tired still."

"No, I uh. I gotta get back to work. I just came here to bring your clothes back."

I frowned at him. "You sure?"

"Unless you want to fuck me."

I blinked a little before pulling two $50 bills out of my back pocket and handing them to him. "No, but you can pretend I just did."

He took the money cautiously, as if he thought I was about to take it all back. "Thanks," he muttered, his eyes only a little confused.

I smiled at him, hoping the THC in my system didn't make it look too dorky. "Like I said before, you know where to find me...," I trailed, continuing up the stairs.

I heard his soft, limping footfalls disappear into the night. Or maybe that was just the weed.

***

"He was asleep on your stairs?"

"Yeah. He came back to return the shirt and boxers I let him borrow, must have been tired as fuck. I offered for him to stay again but he said he had to go. So I gave him some cash before he left."

Jon turned from giving a customer their latte and shot me a glare. "You let him borrow... You didn't call...You gave him _money_?" he finally finished, obviously flustered.

"Well, yeah."

"Brendon, that's just as bad as _paying_ him. Fucking _paying_ him."

I handed off some lady's Frappuccino with a quick smile through the drive-thru window before turning back to Jon. "But I wasn't paying him. He didn't do anything. I didn't do anything. _We_ didn't do anything."

He just rolled his eyes at me before putting on a smile for the next customer in line. I knew for sure he wouldn't speak to me for the next few minutes at least.

I sighed, pressing the button on the headset as it pinged in my ear. "Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?"

***

I was almost asleep sometime the next week when I heard a faint knock on my door. Glaring over at the clock, a red 11:53 staring right back at me, I shoved the covers off and stepped into a pair of boxers.

"Do you even know what fucking time it is? What the fuck do you-"

I paused in my half yelled rant when I opened the door to Ryan's scared little face, a bruise forming under his left eye. He didn't look quite as bad as he had when I found him next to a dumpster, but it was clear someone had roughed him up a bit.

"...want," I finished in barely more than a whisper. "Ryan, hey."

I opened the door wider and stepped back to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. I noticed a small backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Sorry about that," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck nervously.

"It's fine, it is late."

"Should I even ask what happened? Anything I should take a look at?"

He shook his head.

"Well, um." I ran a hand over my face. "You know where the shower is, if you need one. And uh, you know where the bed is. Are you hungry at all?"

"A little," he whispered, ducking his head so that his bangs fell in his face.

I couldn't stop the fond smile that spread across my face. "Go take a shower, then, you'll feel better. I'll make you a sandwich or something."

He looked back up at me and I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before shuffling into the kitchen. I threw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in record time, smiling to myself when I heard soft humming just over the sound of the running water. It was only when the humming suddenly became familiar, when I could make out the faint words I had thought were just meaningless noises that I froze.

" _So if you see me will you just drive on by_  
Or will I catch the twinkle inside your eye?  
And if you want me, well I guess I want you  
Oh pretty baby, how could you?" he sang softly, his voice muffled but beautiful nonetheless.

I almost broke down right there. I had heard that song before, and I knew that it was about the evils of prostitution, from a prostitute's point of view. _This kid doesn't want this life_ , I thought bitterly, cursing whoever had left him in such a position. _He doesn't deserve this_.

I was still trying to pull myself together when he emerged from the bathroom and slunk into the kitchen in only a pair of boxers. Fortunately, I noticed the bruise that had been on his side had vanished, the cuts and scrapes I had doctored only a faint memory.

"You okay?"

I nodded, playing off the hand covering my mouth as stifling a yawn. "Yeah, uh, hope you like PB&J," I replied, handing him the plate with the sandwich on it. I didn't mention that I was the one that was supposed to be worried about _him_.

"Like's got nothing to do with it. If it keeps me from starving, I'm eating it," he muttered honestly as I ushered him over to the table.

"Good point," I assented, sitting down next to him and resting my cheek on my folded arms.

He looked pointedly at me as he took a bite out of the sandwich. "Are you sure you're okay?"

This time I heard the silent _with this_ that went at the end of that question and smiled a little. "Yeah. It's fine. Really."

He returned my grin, suddenly becoming a lot more interested in his sandwich.

I let him take my bed once again when it was finally time to sleep, but this time I remembered to grab a real pillow before settling in on the couch for the night.

***

"I fucking told you to call me the next time you invited him in!"

"I'm sorry, Jon, it was fucking midnight and I wanted to sleep probably as much as he _and_ you did. You act like he's some serial killer or something and that he's going to fucking cut me up into little pieces and feed them to the neighbor's cat, jesus christ." I dragged a washcloth angrily across the countertop as I spoke, purposely avoiding Jon's eyes.

"You never know, Brendon, he very well could be!"

I threw the rag down and it made a sickening splat as it hit the counter. "Don't you think if that was his intention, he would have done it the moment he saw me in that dark fucking alley?" I spun around to glare at Jon. Even with a real pillow to lay my head on, my couch was still a rather uncomfortable place to sleep, and me plus lack of good sleep equals cranky as hell.

He stared at me, unable to respond to that.

"And if he wanted to rob me, do you think he'd wait until the third or fourth time that I lay asleep on that couch with him having full range of my apartment to take something?"

Jon sighed, cupping his chin with one hand and supporting his elbow with his other arm held across his chest. "You're forgetting the whole part where this is _illegal_ , Bren."

"Is it illegal to give money to the poor, Jon?" I wavered, suddenly getting teary-eyed. "Is it illegal to feed the hungry? Shelter the homeless, cure the sick? Because that's exactly what I'm doing, Jon, whether he is a fucking prostitute or not." I stood there for a minute trying to calm my breathing, stomp down the tremble in my voice, Jon standing silent in front of me the whole time. "I'm taking my break," I finished finally, mentally congratulating myself for steadying my voice as I pulled off my apron.

I could hear him sighing after me as I stormed out the back door. I knew he'd never understand this; he'd never understand how much I cared for Ryan after only knowing him for two months. How much it killed me to see him come in the night before, scared and bruised, looking like he wasn't sure if I'd let him in or not.

I pulled a cigarette out of my pack and lit it, leaning back against the door as I finally let the tears fall. _He'd never understand that I was slowly falling for a male prostitute_.

***

This time, I actively searched him out as I walked home that night, softly calling his name.

"Brendon?"

I turned around at his voice, grinning stupidly when I saw him step out of the shadows, just like that first night.

"Hey, Ryan. I was, uh. Looking for you."

He raised his eyebrows at me, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you, uh, were staying the night again. Or whatever." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat without much success.

"I wasn't... Well, I was hoping for a- a customer. Tonight." He looked away from me. "A regular. One of the nicer ones."

I let out a quiet, "Oh," nodding as I tried to keep the disappointment out of my face and voice. "Okay."

"But, ah, he's prone to not show up sometimes," he called after me as I began to walk off in the direction of my apartment. I stopped to look at him over my shoulder. "So if he doesn't show... is a little before midnight okay?"

I bit my lip to stop the hopeful smile that wanted to make itself be known. "Yeah, that's fine."

He nodded and disappeared into the shadows as I continued on my way home.

There was a knock at my door at exactly 11:45.

***

Jon had pretty much stopped talking to me after our last fight, so work was eerily quiet. Fortunately, there was a new kid working the last shift now days, so I started talking to him instead.

"So how old are you?" I asked over my shoulder as I made another latte.

"Almost eighteen," the kid - Spencer, I reminded myself - muttered from where he was mopping the floors.

My eyebrows shot up. "Really? Are you still in school?"

"No, I graduated earlier this year. I'll be going into college in the fall, though." He made a face at that, like he'd just seen the part in Titanic where Jack dies.

"Not looking forward to that, I suppose," I muttered, handing the cup out the drive-thru window.

He shook his head, leaning on the mop handle. "Not really. I had chosen the college back when I was still in school. I only picked it 'cause my best friend was going there." He straightened up again, going back to work. "But... he won't be there now."

I hopped up on the counter Jon had cleaned only an hour ago, before he left. "Mind if I ask why not?"

"His... he was on a scholarship this past school year and, well, his funds kind of ran out about the end of the year."

"Oh. His parents can't help him out? No loans he can get or anything?"

Spencer shook his head. "His parents are... out of the picture. They're not dead," he added quickly when I opened my mouth to apologize. "Just... not around."

"Well, that sucks. So there's no way he can get back into school?"

A pained look crossed Spencer's face, his sparkling blue eyes going suddenly dark. "Well, there is one solution he came up with, but it's not pretty. Or safe, or even legal, for that matter. But it pays a fair amount of cash. He's hoping to have enough for at least the first semester by the beginning of it."

"What is he, a drug dealer or something?" I asked quietly, my eyes wide.

He shook his head again, his auburn hair flying around his face. "I made him promise me not to deal drugs."

I let out a little sigh of relief, despite not even knowing this guy. I barely even knew Spencer as it was. "So, what _does_ he do, then?"

He couldn't even meet my eyes as he responded. "He's a prostitute."

***

There was a frantic knocking on my door several nights later and I answered it only to have Ryan bolting inside before the door was even completely open.

"There's some creepy guy out on the landing that was watching me. I-I think he might be a cop," he whispered nervously, urging me to shut the door.

I almost had it closed when someone's hand stopped it, and suddenly there was Jon forcing the door back open. I heard Ryan scramble for the bedroom and almost laughed at his irrational fear of Jon before I realized how pissed off he looked.

"You don't ever fucking listen to me, do you, Brendon? All I ever do is look out for your safety because you're like a little brother to me and you just shrug it off." If I listened carefully, I could tell he was stoned, and maybe a little drunk as well. "Why? Why don't you ever take my advice?"

"Jon, Jon, you're not yourself, just calm down."

"No, I'm not gonna calm down until you tell that goddamn little whore to get the fuck out of your apartment, and get the fuck out of your life."

I sighed a little. My hands were pressed to his chest to keep him from coming at me, or worse, going after Ryan. "Jon, I'm eighteen, I think I can take care of myself. Can you please just calm down? You're scaring him."

"Good, the little piece of shit deserves to be fucking scared. 'Cause I'm about _this fucking close_ to calling the fucking cops on him."

"Jon, please-"

He swung at me then, but I dodged it easily.

"Fuck you!"

"Jon, don't do this."

He swung at me again, and this time I caught his arm before twisting it and spinning him around, shoving him into the door. Pulling his arm up between his shoulder blades, I wedged a knee between his legs to keep him from moving.

"Calm the fuck down!"

We stood like that for a few minutes, both of us panting a little; Jon from yelling, me from pure anger.

"Jon, you just... you don't understand."

"Why don't you enlighten me, then? What I wouldn't give to understand why you keep letting that piece of trash in here."

"He's not a piece of trash, he's just a kid, okay? He's probably not even as old as you. And... and I care about him, alright? Call me a sucker, whatever, but I'm probably the only person in this world who _does_ fucking care about him."

"Why?" Jon asked quietly, and I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me that I knew was Ryan. "Why are you doing this? Why do you even care?"

I shook my head, even though Jon couldn't see it. "I can't... not in front of him, Jon."

"Why not?" he questioned, voice rising again. "What reason could you possibly have that he shouldn't know about, huh?"

I was in the process of trying to answer that when he pushed back against me hard, making me lose my grip on him and stumble backwards. He spun around and glared at me.

"You know what, Jon? I'm more afraid of what you could do to me than what Ryan could right now, so don't even give me that bullshit about safety. Now get out of my apartment before someone gets hurt."

He glared at me a second longer before turning on his heel and storming out, slamming the door behind him.

"Friend of yours?" Ryan asked softly from behind me as I turned the deadbolt and secured the chain.

"Yeah," I replied, turning to him. "He was at least." I sighed. "I don't even know anymore. He's usually not like that. He's usually really fucking chill when he's stoned or drunk, not abusive, christ..."

He stepped up to me, placing his long fingers on the back of my neck, massaging lightly. It felt pretty fucking good, too. "Come on, you look like you could use some sleep," he muttered, leading me to the bedroom.

"Hey, wait, you're not sleeping on the couch."

"No, I'm not. The bed's big enough for two."

"Ryan..."

He pressed a finger to my lips. "I'm not asking you to do anything but sleep. It's just... that couch can't possibly be comfortable."

"It's not, to be honest."

He grinned at me, casually stripping down to his boxers. "You deserve to sleep in your own bed."

I sighed, tugging my shirt off and crawling in on the opposite side of him. "I was being polite when I gave you the bed. That and trying to keep things from being really awkward."

"I don't know about you, but I don't find it awkward. I used to sleep in a twin with my best friend all the time."

I made a noncommittal noise and didn't even question him as we drifted off, both of us curled up on opposite sides of the bed.

***

"So, where do you sleep when you're not here?" I asked over our breakfast of toaster strudels the next morning.

"You know that dumpster you found me by? I used to sleep behind that when I couldn't get a trick to take me home. Sometimes my friend Spencer will offer his bed, but he can't just do that every night-"

"Wait wait wait. Spencer? Blue eyes, auburn hair, kinda tall, works at Starbucks?"

Ryan furrowed his brow at me, chewing slowly on a bite of strudel. "Yeah... why?"

I gasped. "I know him! And you - oh shit."

He tilted his head to the side. "What?"

"You're the friend he was talking about," I continued softly. "The one who's scholarship ran out and now he's out peddling his ass to pay for college. Ryan, shit. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it would matter to you," he muttered, bowing his head.

"You didn't think- Ryan," I breathed, tipping his chin back up to look at me. "You were here last night. I'm pushing away my best friend because I care about you. Of course it matters to me."

"Why? Why do you care?"

I swallowed, shaking my head. "I-I can't."

He placed his hand on my cheek and gently turned my head so that he was looking me in the eye. "You can. Please, tell me."

I covered his hand with my own, keeping the eye contact. "Ryan, I... I care because I love you."

His face went from surprised to sheepish, a tinge of red spreading across his cheeks. "Really?"

"Really. I want to help you out, so please, stay here."

"I can't. I need money to go back to college. I have to make it up to Spencer." He sighed, bowing his head again. "He was my only friend for so long. The look on his face when I told him I wouldn't be there his first year of college..."

I took his face between my hands. "You're gonna go back to college, believe me. I can help you. But you're not going back out on the streets, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I saw you hurt again." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "I'm in too deep to let you go again."

He smiled at me for a second before it fell. "But I still need a job."

"It won't pay nearly as much, but I can get you in at Starbucks with me and Spencer and Jon. And if you stay with me, you can save everything you make instead of having to set aside money to pay for food and such. Now, I know you're thinking that Jon hates you, but really, he's just afraid of you for me. If we can show him that you're not gonna rob me blind or a scary serial killer that's gonna cut me into little pieces, I think he'll warm up to you." I paused for a second. "I think he'll really like the fact that you're getting off the streets and trying to get a respectable job."

"You'll do that for me?"

I couldn't stop the grin that broke across my face. "I'd do anything for you."  



End file.
